The Nightmare

Block- 38, Street-14, Bloomsbury, London;

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"STOP...NOOOO!!"

A girl screamed, jolting awake from a nightmare.

She was none other than Aaruhi Shekhawat, the only heir of Shekhawat Industries.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she sat up in bed. The room felt unfamiliar—too quiet, too empty. She stood up and began pacing, her bare feet cold against the floor, as if movement alone could chase the lingering terror away.

It was just a dream, she told herself.
But her racing heart refused to believe it.

With shaking hands, she grabbed her phone and dialed a number she knew by heart.

The call rang.              
Once.
Twice.
Three times.

Pick up... please pick up, she begged silently, her mind replaying flashes from the nightmare—shadows, silence, and a fear she couldn't name. 

Just as she was about to hang up, the call connected.     

"Hey," came his voice, slightly rushed. "If it's not that important... can I call you back later? I'm a bit busy right now."

Relief washed over her at the sound of him alive, breathing. Her knees nearly gave way as she sank onto the edge of the bed. But the fear didn't leave—it tightened its grip.

Tears blurred her vision. What if the dream was a warning? What if I was already too late?

"A-are you okay?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Th-they didn't hurt you... They didn't poison you... right?"

There was a pause—
too long, too quiet.

The silence pressed against her ears, heavy enough to hurt.

She waited.

Her fingers tightened around the phone.
Her pulse thudded in her throat.

Say something. Please. Just say something.

Then—

A scream tore through the line.

Sharp. Sudden. Cut short.

Her breath hitched painfully. For a moment, she forgot how to inhale.

"Hello?" she whispered. Then louder. "Hello?"

Only static answered.

The screen flickered.

Call ended.

Her heart lurched as if it had missed a beat—and then began pounding wildly, each throb louder than the last. The room felt like it was closing in on her.

"No... no, no," she muttered, redialing with shaking hands.

Switched off.

Her chest tightened. Panic crawled up her spine as she tried again. And again.

Nothing.

She scrolled through her contacts, calling the first familiar name.
No response.

Another.
Out of reach.

Another.
Unavailable.

One by one, every call failed—
as if the world had gone silent on purpose.

Her phone slipped slightly in her grip as a single thought settled deep in her chest, cold and terrifying:

This wasn't just a nightmare anymore.

The thought echoed in her mind, hollow and deafening.

Her knees weakened.

The phone slipped from her trembling fingers and hit the floor with a dull sound, but she barely heard it. The room spun, the walls blurring as her chest tightened painfully, each breath coming shorter than the last.

"No..." she whispered, shaking her head as if denial alone could undo what had just happened.

Her strength gave way.

Aaruhi collapsed onto the cold floor, her palms scraping against it as she tried—and failed—to push herself back up. Panic surged through her veins, raw and uncontrollable.

Then the scream broke free.

It tore out of her chest, filling the empty room, echoing off the walls—
a sound born of fear, helplessness, and a truth she wasn't ready to accept.

Her vision darkened at the edges. The pounding in her head grew louder, drowning out everything else.

The world tilted.

And then—
nothing.

Silence claimed her as she slipped into unconsciousness, the unanswered call still glowing on the screen beside her.

                    ............................

Three days later...

Darkness faded slowly.

Not all at once—just enough for her to feel the weight of her own body again.

Aaruhi's eyelids fluttered, heavy as if they didn't belong to her. Her head throbbed faintly, and her throat felt dry, painfully tight. She didn't know where she was. She didn't know how much time had passed. Date, day, hour—everything was blank.

Then—

A sound.

Soft at first.
Distant.
Persistent.

Her phone was ringing.

The sound felt strange, almost foreign, as if it belonged to someone else's life. It took her a moment to realize it was real. With weak fingers, she reached for the phone and answered.

"Babe?" A girl's voice rushed through the speaker, breathless and startled. "Where have you been all these days? You didn't pick up a single call. You didn't reply to our messages. Nothing. Why?"

The voice was familiar. Too familiar.

Trisha Oberoi.
Her best friend.

Aaruhi tried to speak—but no sound came out.

Her chest tightened. Breathing felt difficult, as if the air refused to reach her lungs. She swallowed, forcing her voice past the ache in her throat.

"P-please..." she whispered.

The word barely survived the journey out of her mouth.

"Please... come."

The call went quiet.

Anyone could tell—just from that broken, fragile voice—that Aaruhi Shekhawat was barely holding herself together... that she was struggling to breathe, to stay conscious, to exist.

And on the other end of the call, Trisha understood one thing instantly—

Something was terribly wrong.

She had a thousand questions pressing against her lips, all fighting to be asked at once. Where was Aaruhi? What had happened? Why hadn't she answered anyone for days?

But the voice she had just heard—
that fragile, barely-there whisper—told her everything she needed to know.

Aaruhi couldn't speak.
Not properly.
Not yet.

She was in pain.

So Trisha swallowed her questions, forcing her own panic down. She softened her voice, careful not to push, not to break whatever strength Aaruhi had managed to gather.

"Okay," she said gently. "I'm coming."

No accusations.
No demands.

Just certainty.

Because some moments didn't need answers—
they needed presence.

And whatever had happened over those three days, Trisha knew one thing with absolute clarity:
                                Aaruhi Shekhawat should not be alone right now.

And as the call ended, the silence returned—
heavier than before.

Three days had been stolen from her life.
A scream had been the last thing she heard.
And somewhere between fear and unconsciousness, a truth had begun to surface.

Some nightmares don't end when you wake up.
They wait.

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Thank you for reading this chapter 🤍
This is only the beginning—every silence, every unanswered call, and every missing moment holds a purpose. Keep reading closely... because not all truths reveal themselves at once.

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💭 What do you think really happened during those three missing days—and is the nightmare truly over, or just beginning??